Love a Peaceful Village

Well, it’s been a while!

Time to get back in the saddle though and with a few days off, we decided to tootle off and explore a bit more of our own small island. The plan was to see some more of places we pass through but don’t explore, or to visit places we either haven’t been to, or haven’t been to for a good thirty-odd years. The plan also, of course, would include some opportunities for Steve to hit the links and get in a round or two of golf!

We set off from home and headed over the mountains, through the Central Highlands in the direction of Bothwell. Travelling off the main highway and climbing the hills behind Deloraine gave us a route of corners, hairpin bends, dog legs and sweeping curves on and on and on. I grabbed hold of the handle that hangs above the car door and hung on as I swung this way and that, swinging and swaying up the mountain and around all those corners. This is the type of road that, as a kid, would have had me moaning “How much furrrrthaaa?” “I feeeeel siiiick.” Thankfully, my adult stomach copes with swaying cars better than my childhood one did and we got over the mountain, onto the plateau and down to the  lakes with breakfast still safely in the stomach.

We looked down on Great Lake and then made our way through “shack country” with shacks lining the lakes or tucked into the bush or simply lining the gravel roads that traversed this remote area. The sun shone, the sky was cobalt, the clouds were marshmallow fluff and the lake fairly sparkled. Always a fan of a sign that says “Lookout”, we turned off and parked beside the lake / dam which we learned was the second longest of its type in the world when it was constructed in 1922. Then we hit the bush track to walk up to Beamont’s Memorial. 

As we walked up the track, with Steve taking the lead, I saw him stop and stand still for a moment on the track. Why was he stopping? Had he seen an interesting plant? Stopping to take a photo perhaps? Without even seeing whatever it was he was looking at, I knew instantly why he’d stopped. He turned back to look at me and said, “There was a little snake there.” Yep…that’s why he’d stopped. This time of year, on a hot day, there’s always a chance you’ll spot a “Joe Blake” enjoying some sun baking, so it always pays to check where you step! No drama though. They have a scary reputation but snakes tend to do their best to keep out of your way, unless they don’t see you and you don’t see them and a great clod hopper lands on them! No problem today though, Steve and snake had spotted each other and happily gone their separate ways!

The memorial at the top was for a fella called John Beamont, who we read was a sheriff and registrar of deeds and “a warm friend and died universally respected” who died in 1872.  The plaque was another disappointing example of Tasmania’s selective history though. With the words “This John, historians relate, gave signal service to the state in many fields. He was the first to cast his eye and slake his thirst upon this noble inland sea where now he spends eternity.” These words of course exclude the tens of thousands of years that out First Nations people walked this country, cast their eyes on the land and used these waters.  Another reminder of how we’ve so often told our history with blinkers on.

Next stop was all Steve… Ratho Farm… a golf course… the oldest golf course in Australia no less. In this big wide country, it turns out that a golf course that is literally constructed on paddocks on a farm on the outskirts of the sleepy village of Bothwell, has the title of Australia’s first golf course. Who’d have thought. As we strolled the links, it was clear this was still very much a farm and the fairways were just part of the paddocks. It was brown and crunchy under foot, which I thought was kind of a good thing. Not good that the ground was so dry from a lack of rain, but it was good that water hadn’t been wasted for the sake of being precious about keeping a golf course lush and green. 

We came up behind a group of four and I immediately thought this was going to add another hour to the game, while we waited for them to get ahead of us, but they graciously waved us through. They stood to the side while Steve teed off and I have to say… he nailed it! The ball sailed in a  graceful arc and landed with a delicate thunk just short of the green. As we walked past the kindly group of four, I thanked them for letting us through and one of the men said to Steve, “We might have to get some lessons from you.”

“I fluke a good shot occasionally,” replied Steve.

“It was the audience,” I added, “he was under pressure and had to perform!”

“We might follow you around and get some tips,” added the man with a smile.

Did I just see Steve quicken his pace? I think I did. The Big Fella wasn’t quite doing a Kath and Kel full hipped  power walk but he stepped up to a power stroll and started high tailing it towards that green to get some distance between him and these nice folk. He definitely didn’t want an audience following him the whole way, that’s just asking for performance anxiety! 

The round continued with Steve hitting the ball mostly where he wanted and the times when it didn’t behave, that’s where I came in, with the job of hunting down the errant balls in the grass, in a ditch or under a hawthorn bush. “Watch out for snakes,” I reminded Steve again, as we shuffled through some long grass playing another game of hide and seek with that pesky white dimpled little rascal. The undergrowth wasn’t the only hazard to consider, as we were reminded again of the location for this historic course…

Steve was in the zone, focused on white hitting green, while I was just enjoying the walk in the sunshine, taking in the surroundings. I did notice some fun shapes in the trees we passed. Not sure if it’s just me and my imagination, but I think there were some characters there. What do you think?

Game over and some respectable play from our member of the PGA. (That is…Pretty Good Amateur / Putts Going Awry / Par Getting Away) and we hit the road for the short trip into the centre of Bothwell. We had some lunch in a peaceful park under the shade of an oak tree and then took a stroll around this lovely, sleepy little town / village. This is our kind of place. Quiet and unhurried to the point where we could walk down the middle of the street, such was the absence of traffic. Locals said “G’day” as we walked past, strolling around looking at the buildings and reading the plaques that gave snippets of the town’s history. For a place that we’ve driven through a few times, I’m glad we stopped to explore it a little further.

We drove on, over the rolling, sepia-toned hills and landed in New Norfolk. I had pictured New Norfolk as being similar to Bothwell, a town of history, quaint historic buildings and a sleepiness to it. Well… no. No it is not that. Yes, there’s definitely history, but “quaint” and “sleepy” definitely ‘aint the vibe. My perception had something to do with the description on a Tasmanian tourism website that describes the town as “A charming township dotted with eclectic antique stores, historic buildings and no matter what time you visit you will find charm in this little regional town.” Sorry, but no. I could not say New Norfolk was in any way an example of charm. Nope. Charm free I’m afraid. Still…this is why we explore places…to discover what’s out there. Some places shine and others aren’t quite what’s described on the tin!

We found our digs, which was a very nice cottage near the river, had a regrouping brew and then set off to explore a little more of this Norfolk of the New. We did discover that there was once a facility here, opened in 1934, to support those suffering from what was then known as shell shock, following the First World War. Millbrook Rise was originally called Millbrook Rise Psychopathic Home and included a tennis court, golf course and croquet green, providing outdoor activities to support the rehabilitation and mental health of the war veterans. A quote from The Mercury newspaper in 1945 read, “Do not give him pity: give him understanding and love.” Young men from New Norfolk had fought in some of the worst battles of the 1914-1918 war, including the Gallipoli landing, Lone Pine, Passchendale, Pozieres, Bullecourt, Messines, Villers Brettoneux and in Palestine. On returning home, injuries of course were not only physical and Millbrook Rise was intended to help them recover. The fact it was built in 1934, just illustrates how lasting the effects of war were, that this place was opened sixteen years after the end of WWI, to continue to provide care for those living with its emotional scars. After reading the information about Millbrook Rise, we went in search of it, finally discovering it on the top of a hill. Alas, it was now abandoned, boarded up and in disrepair. A grand building standing quite forlornly. A shame really. I’m sure there are good uses that such a building could be put to. Homes for those in need, for one thing, were it to be given some renovation.

We explored some parks, strolled by the river and saw Australia’s oldest continuously licensed hotel, The Bush Inn, before returning to our pit stop to call it a day. We’d seen a little more of our own small island, discovered some new stories, some picturesque places and some… not quite so picturesque.

All is good though, because whether meeting, exceeding or falling short of our expectations, it’s all good learning and discovering that we don’t know enough about our own patch of ground. That’s why we take these little trips, to not take our own little Tasmania for granted and keep exploring and discovering something new about this top little part of the world. She never fails to give us a gem somewhere along the way. Shine on little Tassie and show us what’s next.